


A Need So Fundamental

by Minxie



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Challenge Response, KINK: D/s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-06
Updated: 2010-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"It could be so much fucking more." The words are slow and lazy, a direct correlation to the time spent in the air and the amount of liquor Adam consumes when he feels trapped and forced into stillness. "You don't know half of what it could be."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Need So Fundamental

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction using names and faces associated with actual trufax people. I do not know these people in any way, shape, or form outside of what they show the public. Which, IMO, is a very sucky thing. Just sayin'.  
>  **AN:** Started as a response to [this comment](http://community.livejournal.com/glam_kink/664.html?thread=64152#t64152). Then it got away from me and did... this. And part of the OP request isn't even in there, and the arc doesn't feel done but the story does. So, yeah. Whatever. More of this later. After I finish big bang (almost done) and more in that other series thing (again, almost done). JFC. *rolls eyes*  
>  **Prereaders:** Red, SunShinyDay, and Thraceadams *smooches to you all*

"Maybe this isn't for me."

Adam's _Huh? What?_ gets lost beneath the clang of his silverware banging against his plate.

"I mean, it's changing me, man." Tommy looks out the hotel window. And yeah, okay, Japan is pretty cool and he knows that without this, without Adam, he'd probably never even have seen the place and he damn sure wouldn't have fans. Actual people that scream _his_ name and snap _his_ picture. But still.

He's tired and cranky and just in general pissy. The week in California was almost nice. He was back in his bed, in his shitty apartment, with his friends. And he got laid. Spectacularly. And a lot. By someone who actually, truly fucking knows him, knows more than just his damn name. Which, yeah, bonus.

"Tommy..."

Tommy runs right over Adam, his words just fucking _spilling_ out like water rushing over the floodgates. This happens when he holds on to shit too long.

"It's like there's this thing here," and Tommy waves a hand between the two of them, "and it's great. You're like my fucking best friend. And playing live? Man, that rocks. Like nothing else. But..."

Tommy makes himself stop abruptly. Because there is getting shit off your chest and then there is being a whiny bitch. And saying he's lonely and feeling unwanted, unloved? That crosses the whiny bitch line like whoa, fast.

Except he forgot this is Adam. Adam is like a dog with a bone. An all up in your face, growly fucker that will not let shit go. Not if he thinks he can help. Add in the fact that they are actual friends and it just multiplies Adam's need to fix and protect and fucking _fix_ by about a hundred.

"But? Come on, Tommy Joe, you can't leave it there." Adam pushes his plate away. No great loss in Tommy's opinion. Because, yeah? That was not a meal. It was leaves and shit. "I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

A choked warble works its way out of Tommy's throat. Fucking traitor.

"Maybe you can't help this."

"I don't believe that."

And then Adam is right there behind Tommy, his hand reaching out and clasping down on Tommy's shoulder, his body pressing in tight and close behind Tommy, offering strength and steadfast protection and, _Christ_ , Tommy just knows he is going to fucking spill his guts and tell Adam everything and then what?

Then Adam will be looking at him all the time, his eyes soft with that blend of pity and worry and soul-bending assessment that Tommy hates.

Another jumbled up mess of half-formed words sneaks past Tommy lips.

"Is it the show? Is there something there that needs to change?"

"No." Tommy winces. That totally came out snappish. But, goddammit, the stage is the one place he doesn't feel like this. The place where he knows he fits and he's sure to get the touches and kisses and the facade of having more than one night stands with people he'll never see again.

He's fucking pathetic. Touring obviously brings out his inner twelve-year-old girl. Fucking great.

"Look, just forget..."

"Oh, hell no. You cannot make some fucking statement like that and then just shove it in a closet like last year's winter coat." Adam wedges himself between Tommy and the window, uses two fingers under Tommy's chin to force Tommy away from staring the floor and into meeting Adam's gaze.

And then he simply stares at Tommy. His eyes sharp and aware, his head tilted to the side.

Tommy wants to fidget under the scrutiny.

"Huh," Adam murmurs, then he leans in and kisses Tommy. Slow and sweet, a chaste brushing of lips.

The tension inside Tommy uncoils minutely. This. He needs this. This fucking kind of connection. It'd be so easy to take this and make do.

"No," Tommy mutters, pushing against Adam's chest as he steps away from Adam. Away from the _pull_ of Adam.

He needs the connection. But he wants it to be _real_.

"No?" Adam sounds bewildered, looks confused.

It's almost satisfying for Tommy. Knowing that he isn't the only one completely fucking lost. Finally.

Tommy shakes his head. "No. That's just," Tommy's hands flap around, a physical manifestation of his frustration, "putting a band-aid on it, not really fixing it. I need..."

More. And real. And just _more_.

"How?"

"What?"

Adam leans back against the window. "How is it putting a band-aid on it?"

"It's not real," Tommy sighs, then turns towards the door. Hand on the knob, he looks back and says, "It's friends with benefits and that's not what I want."

* * *

  
The performance was hot, the fans were wild, but beneath it all Tommy could feel a strain. Shit was off between him and Adam now. They didn't even look at each other backstage. Just one more thing to add to his already fucked up list.

After changing, Adam disappears with a drag queen and Tommy disappears to some laid back bar with Monte. And if Tommy kinda, sorta wanted to scream at Adam for hanging out and partying with someone he met in New York? Well, he just stuffs that away with all the other shit.

"You're driving him crazy, you know?"

Tommy twitches, but doesn't give into the urge to look at Monte. "What?"

"Adam," Monte says. "I don't know what happened yesterday but you've got him riled."

"Small difference of opinion, that's all." He ignores the weight of Monte's stare and keeps his eyes on his drink. "Just, really, man, how in the fuck can you be away from Lisa and the kids? Doesn't it make you insane?"

"It sucks, yeah. But you know, Skype makes it easier." The mirror behind the bar reflects the easy roll of Monte's shoulders that accompanies the words. "Is that what this is about? Missing home?

Tommy sips his drink. "Not just that, no."

"You know, I'm a different breed than you are. Than Adam is. The two of you need certain things that I don't think anyone else on this gig needs. Not even Neil, and fuck, they're related to each other." Monte motions the bartender over, orders another round for both of them. "We all miss our family, don't like being alone, but it doesn't rip into us. You and Adam," Tommy watches Monte stop and shake his head. "The reason you two work so well on stage is because you're just alike. You have different needs. Being alone like this, new places, different countries, unfamiliar surroundings? This just kinda makes you two bleed."

It's the best description Tommy's heard. "Yeah. Question is how long 'til I bleed out."

Monte shakes his head and snorts. "Question should be how long 'til the two of you figure out how to stop rubbing it raw and bleeding to begin with."

Yeah, okay. That might be a good question to answer too. Tommy doesn't tell Monte that though. It'll just make the man smug. He's smug enough as it is.

* * *

  
"You're wrong."

Tommy jerks his head up away from the movie playing on his laptop and looks across the aisle to where Adam is sitting. "About what this time?"

"It wouldn't be friends with benefits."

Tommy arches a brow. A thing he totally stole from Adam and usually gets a rise. And Tommy wants a rise, because, really, that conversation was like a week ago. This time it only garners only a small smile and shake of Adam's head. Disappointing.

"It could be so much fucking more." The words are slow and lazy, a direct correlation to the time spent in the air and the amount of liquor Adam consumes when he feels trapped and forced into stillness. "You don't know half of what it could be."

Tommy's eyes dart around the plane. No one seems to be listening, to be paying them any attention at all. Thank fuck.

Adam's eyes flutter shut as he talks, "I don't think you even know exactly what you need. But I do, I know. And it would be so fucking good."

And then the fucker drifts off to sleep. Tommy is tempted to poke him, just reach right across the aisle and jab him in the ribs. Because, goddammit, who falls asleep after saying some shit like that? And really, how in the fuck could Tommy not know what _he_ needs. That's like saying he doesn't even know himself.

What the fuck ever.

Except that it isn't a what the fuck ever. It's a fuck of a lot more and it keeps Tommy awake the entire flight to New Zealand.

* * *

  
Some of the shine of landing in New Zealand – _New Zealand!_ – is tarnished because Tommy is exhausted. And irritated. He cannot for the life of him figure out what Adam was talking about. Oh, he totally got the part of it being more than fuck buddies – his dick got that memo faster than his brain did, hardening up and pushing relentlessly against the zipper of his jeans until he caved and fled to the toilet, biting his lip as he took the matter in hand, fast and dirty and over in a matter of minutes – but seriously, that whole not knowing himself thing?

Yeah, Adam has some explaining to do on that one.

Tommy keeps his sunglasses on despite the darkening sky, waits patiently for his bags at the carousel, and fucking takes Adam's head off when he asks about dropping the bags and hitting the clubs. That last one is completely unintended, but wholly pleasing. In a sick and twisted kind of way.

Right until Adam frowns and wraps his hand around the back of Tommy's neck, fingers splaying between Tommy's hairline and the curve of his shoulders, and squeezes.

A spark of warmth shoots through Tommy and he has to physically bite back the _what the actual fuck_.

Adam tightens his fingers and growls, "Get your shit and follow me."

Tommy clenches his muscles tight, works at warding off the shudder he can feel building in his toes. He manages to hold the shudder at bay but the words spill out this time, fast and unchecked. "What the actual fuck?"

With a shake of his head, Adam says, "We'll talk at the hotel."

Moving from the airport to the hotel and then to their rooms feels like the longest hour and a half Tommy has ever endured. They're stepping all around each other, not talking, not even looking at each other. In the elevator, Tommy snorts and shakes his head.

"What?"

"Thinking about what you said on the plane," Tommy grumbles.

Adam's brows shoot up. "And that's funny?"

"Right now we can't even look at each other, so, yeah, kinda funny."

"You're being petulant and bratty." Leaning in close, Adam sets his lips right at Tommy's ear and drops his voice to a whisper, "And _right now_ it's taking everything I've got to not turn you ass up and spank it out of you."

Tommy blushes and frowns and fucking blushes even more. "You... I don't even... really?"

Adam doesn't respond until the doors slide open on their floor and, with a hand at Tommy's back, he directs them both to Adam's room. As he opens the door, motioning Tommy in with a cant of his head, Adam says, "Yes, really."

Well. Okay. Except, yeah... "I'm not a fucking kid."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Adam growls, dropping his bag and snatching Tommy's out of his hand, tossing it carelessly towards the bed.

Then, holy fucking _Christ_ , Adam has Tommy pushed against the wall. He's holding Tommy in place, leaning in and surrounding him with his body, using the advantage of his height and his weight to pin Tommy against the wall. One hand snakes beneath Tommy's shirt, scratching at the sensitive skin of Tommy's waist, as the other tangles into Tommy's hair and tugs, tilting and arching Tommy's neck to just the right angle and then Adam is ravaging – _ravaging_ – his mouth, simply taking what he wants.

Taking and taking and taking until Tommy's lungs are burning and his toes are curling tight inside his creepers and his dick is straining against the hard press of his zipper.

He moans, low and raspy and fucking broken. "Adam."

Adam pulls back long enough to murmur, "Shush, Tommy Joe," and then he pushes back in, mouth covering Tommy's, body pressed in tight.

Tommy sags against the wall, gives himself over in a way he simply can _not_ on stage. Like when Adam twists his fingers through Tommy's hair or grabs him around the throat, when Adam fucking seriously kisses him instead licking and teasing before dancing out of reach, leaving Tommy standing on his own while the show moves forward.

He drops back, lets Adam do and have and fucking _take_. Doesn't fight for the kiss as much as he just follows Adam's lead. The longer the kiss lasts, the more Tommy just fucking lets loose, lets his body melt, until he knows that it's Adam – Adam at his front, the wall at his back – that is keeping him upright.

A tiny groan vibrates its way into the kiss.

"Yeah." Adam pulls back and nips at Tommy's chin. "This. This right here. This is what you need."

Tommy agrees with a moan. Not that he thinks they're talking about the same thing, not with some of Adam's comments and the way he's just fucking _there_ , but because, yeah. This connection is exactly what he needs.

The rest will sort itself out tomorrow. Hopefully.

Then Adam turns them mid-kiss, his arms tightening around Tommy, holding Tommy even tighter against him when the support of the wall disappears. With shuffling feet, Adam moves them towards the bed, breaking the kiss only long enough to strip their shirts off.

Tommy grunts his displeasure, and then sighs, satisfied when Adam's mouth covers his again. Christ, he could do this all night. Just get lost in the feel and the touch and the _taste_ of Adam. The backs of his legs bump the bed and Adam really breaks the kiss, steps out of Tommy's reach. "Come on, baby. Down to boxers and then bed."

Huh. Okay. Totally not where he thought this was going and, maybe, he's just a little relieved, relieved with having the _expectation_ of sex taken off the table. And disappointed. His cock is very disappointed. But the tight knot of worry – the wonder if this is a mistake, the knowledge that they really need to talk, the confusion on what it is Adam thinks Tommy needs – fractures and Tommy physically relaxes.

He toes his creepers off, kicks his jeans to the side, and then, watching Adam, he slips between the sheets.

Adam slides in next to Tommy and then rolls over, catching Tommy beneath him, pushing him further into the mattress. He uses his hands to frame Tommy's head, his fingers tangling in Tommy's hair, and starts kissing him again. Slow and lazy and possessive sweeps of his tongue over Tommy's lips and jaw and then into Tommy's mouth, riding the edge of Tommy's teeth and then pushing along the smooth roof of Tommy's mouth.

Tommy curls his hands in the elastic of Adam's boxers, tugging him closer until their cocks are brushing through the layers of thin, worn cotton. "Jesus."

Adam pulls back and smirks, then leans in, settling his chin on Tommy's shoulder. "God how you make me want, Tommy Joe. In my bed, on your knees, taking my cock like you're born to it."

Tommy moans softly, arches his hips against Adam's, because, yeah, that sounds good. All of it _sounds_ really fucking hot, really fucking good.

"Just wanna fucking tie you down, have you wide open to play with. I wanna tease and taste you," Adam licks a wet stripe over Tommy's shoulder, rolls his hips down hard, " until you're blind with want, just fucking begging for me to touch you, to take you, to fucking mark you."

The words are just adding to Tommy's need. "Adam, _fuck_ , please."

"Gonna make you come in your pants tonight, Tommy Joe. Just like this, with me on top of you and you fucking imagining what it'll feel like, when you finally understand, when you give yourself over to me."

They move together, harder and faster and Adam's fingers twist into Tommy's hair, stinging and biting and so very fucking there. Moans and grunts and fucking whimpers just _pour_ out of Tommy.

"That's what I want, Tommy," Adam hums. "More than your heart and your body. I want your song. I want you to sing for me."

Adam's hold on Tommy tightens, the muscles of his legs flex and strain, and Tommy's body locks into a rictus of pleasure as his orgasm rips through him with a rush of static and heat.

Eyes closed, Tommy shudders through aftershocks, fingers working open and then closed against Adam's waist. "Oh, fuck."

He feels the smile when Adam presses his lips against Tommy's temple. "Let me up for a minute, baby."

Tommy's arms fall to the bed, dead fucking weight, and, when Adam throws the sheet back, he winces. He just came in his underwear like a teenager. It's wet and sticky and cold. And embarrassing. Very fucking embarrassing.

He tracks Adam by the soft sound of Adam's humming, silently making plans for ducking into the bath for a cleanup and then sneaking to his room for a meltdown. Then the bed dips, surprising Tommy, because somehow he lost track of Adam. Before Tommy can say anything, Adam is nudging at Tommy's hips and tugging the come-stained boxers off, replacing them with a warm washcloth as he gently cleans Tommy off.

The hot rush of embarrassment works its way over Tommy's chest, up his neck, and to his cheeks. This is too familiar, too intimate. Too fucking much of a personal connection.

And it's exactly what Tommy has been missing.

Tommy keeps his eyes closed until the lamp goes out and Adam slides back into the bed, curling around Tommy's side, his hard cock pressing against the jut of Tommy's hip. Tommy's even more embarrassed when he realizes that he just let Adam do all of _that_ when Adam hadn't even gotten off.

He reaches out, fingers trailing lightly over Adam's thigh, heading for Adam's dick.

"Nuh uh, Tommy Joe." Adam circles his fingers around Tommy's wrist, holding his hand hard and tight and in place. "That was for you, baby."

"But..."

"I won't settle for anything less than all." Adam's fingers squeeze Tommy's wrist, then loosen, simply holding. "And having you now, that'd be settling."

Then Adam mouths a string of kisses along Tommy's jaw, curls them closer together, and goes to sleep, leaving Tommy awake and restless and thinking for the second night in a row.

* * *

  
Tommy wakes up to the smell of coffee and bacon. He rolls into a stretch, groaning when his back pops once, twice, three times. Then the night comes crashing in and Tommy blushes and, twisting against the sheets, he catches a goddamn cramp in his back. "Fuck!"

"Tommy?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mutters, rubbing at his back with one hand and fighting the tangle of obviously man-eating covers with the other.

The bed shifts and then Adam's fingers are digging into Tommy's back, working the hot lump in the muscles with a leverage Tommy had no chance of getting. When Tommy relaxes minutely, Adam whispers, "Better?"

"Yeah," Tommy sighs. Much fucking better. Now he can concentrate on the ridiculous urge to hide under the pillows. "Thanks."

Adam hums and then, dragging a hand over Tommy's shoulder, points to the bath. "I put your bag in there. Figured you'd want a shower this morning."

"Yeah," Tommy murmurs again. "Got airplane germs to wash off."

Which really just highlights last night in Tommy's mind. Because, dude, he went from the airport to coming in his pants without even a hitch between.

Adam chuckles. "Well, I can tell you from experience, the showers here are great. Go on, it'll help that muscle."

Then Adam is gone, and Tommy misses the heat of him immediately. He bites his bottom lip to keep from actually saying it out loud.

"But don't turn it into a marathon shower, breakfast is here."

That makes Tommy's lips twitch. "Yeah, that's what woke me up." He slips out of bed and balls his hands into tight fists. He is so not going to cover his junk. There's been enough teenage angst in this room already. "Is that real bacon or that turkey shit you eat?"

"Guess you'll have to find out after your shower, buddy."

Tommy exhales slowly and heads to the bathroom. Maybe it won't be completely fucking weird between them.

Somehow he doubts that.

* * *

  
"This place is fucking beautiful." It's about all he's said since they'd started this moped adventure. More than once, Tommy has turned to say something to Adam and then remembered Adam stayed behind, claimed the need for rest and shit.

Tommy knew it was a lie then, knows that right now Adam is sitting alone in that fucking hotel room, and the thought rattles Tommy in a way that he really doesn't understand, leaves him speechless and confused. Confused in the same way that, when they parted after breakfast, Tommy didn't really know what to say or do. Adam had shaken his head and murmured something about them talking, tonight, after Tommy had time to think and process. It sounded solid at the time.

Now all Tommy really wants is Adam here, on his own silly little moped breathing in this fucking country.

"What's up with you and the boss man?"

Tommy jerks at the sound of Terrance's voice. "Nothing... everything... I don't fucking know."

Terrance throws his head back and laughs. "Well, that definitely answered my question."

He sticks his tongue out at Terrance and then raises his phone, takes another picture of something that Adam just _has_ to see.

"Thought when you two disappeared last night that maybe you both finally got your heads outta your asses."

Wow. Okay. "Um, what?"

That earns another chuckle from Terrance. "You two have been dancing around each other from the beginning."

Tommy's first instinct is to deny. Deny. Deny. Deny. Except that this is Terrance. Who has seen Tommy drunk and Tommy sick and Tommy high. Hell, like everyone else on tour, he's seen Tommy all those things plus naked too. Most of them _while_ Tommy was naked. He's one of Tommy's closest friends and deserves not to be put off or lied to. Tommy shrugs. "Probably."

"Probably? Nah, fella." Terrance leans over and nudges Tommy's shoulder with his hand. "That is fact right there."

"Maybe. I just..."

"Hey," and just like that all the teasing is gone from Terrance's tone. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

"Yeah, dude, I know."

"So, what the fuck? It's not like you two aren't made for each other."

Tommy stares at the landscape in the distance. "How'd ya figure that?"

From the corner of his eye, Tommy sees Terrance shrug. "Well, there's definitely chemistry, it shows up in every picture of you two. You guys have been friends from word go. And, to be honest, you balance each other in the whole needs and wants thing."

There's that word again. Need. Apparently everybody seems to know exactly what Tommy needs. Everyone except Tommy. "Needs and wants?"

Terrance frowns and stares at Tommy, stares _through_ Tommy. "Fuck me. You don't know, do you?"

"Obviously not," Tommy snaps. Then, dragging a hand through his hair, he sighs. "Sorry, dude. Didn't mean to take your head off."

"Whatever, player. But I'm leaving that conversation to the big man in charge."

Tommy grumbles under his breath – _goddammit_ – and then starts the moped again. If his answers are with Adam, then he fucking-a-well needs to be with Adam too.

The _need_ in that thought makes Tommy curse again. He's beginning to hate that word.

* * *

  
"Thought you guys were gonna be out all day."

It's not exactly a warm hello, but Adam does open the door to his room wide and motion Tommy in. "Yeah, well, got tired of turning around to tell you something and finding Neil instead."

Adam's lips curl into an almost smile. "So you came back?"

Tommy nods and drops down on the couch, the hard and very fucking uncomfortable couch. Hotel furniture sucks.

"Tell me you at least told someone."

"Yeah, man. Terrance knows. He'll stop Neil before the stroke starts." Tommy grins. Terrance will stop Neil before he calls in the authorities. He'll let the stroke happen because Neil in stroke mode is fucking hilarious. "Well, before Neil calls the cops."

"True." Adam looks between the couch and the chair, and finally settles on the couch. Taking the corner the furthest away from Tommy, he says, "Gonna tell me why you came back alone?"

"Did already." Tommy is totally ignoring the heat creeping all up his neck and over his cheeks. "I missed you."

"Okay."

They sit there quietly, the silence building from a simple break in conversation to flat out uncomfortable. Finally Tommy turns from picking his nails to look at Adam. The set of Adam's shoulders, the tense line in his jaw tells Tommy that this one is on him. Tommy knows that since Adam's put it out there, now he'll sit back and wait. No matter how much waiting annoys the living fuckall out of him.

"So," Tommy says, "I was talking to Terrance."

That gets a reaction. A slight widening of Adam's eyes, a cocked brow. "About?"

"Well, he asked about you and that kinda led to this thing," Tommy throws a hand and waves it between them. "And then he said that we balance each other. Like with wants and needs and shit."

"Uh huh."

"And." Tommy stops and swallows, mans up to having this fucking conversation that is sure to include at least a mention of things like feelings and dreams. He's never been good at this shit. Never. "And I just don't get how you think I don't know what I need. I mean, really, it's just, you know, I think I know myself, yeah."

"Do you?"

The way Adam says it, the actual question in his voice is all that keeps Tommy from flaking out. Adam isn't being condescending or obnoxious or righteous. He's fucking _asking_.

"Or are you still measuring against what you think you _should_ need?"

"What the fuck..." Oh. Okay. Valid question. "Um, I just. What?"

Adam snorts and shakes his head.

"Shut up." Tommy growls. The words lose something – lose a lot – when you add in the affection in his voice.

Then Adam nudges Tommy with his bare toes and says, "Tell me what you want."

It's not the want that has Tommy's brain twisted up like a fucking pretzel, thank you very much. It's the damn need that always seems to follow it. Tommy tells Adam that. And then pinches one of Adam's toes when that bubbly fucking laugh filters out around them.

"Hey!"

"Whatever." Tommy's hand flails again, this time all on its own with no input from Tommy at all. "Seriously, everyone keeps saying need. That I _need_. I cannot be the only one. What about you?"

Somehow Adam takes the question to mean that Tommy should be on his back, pressed into the rock hard couch with Adam looming over him.

"Yeah, I have needs too."

Adam drags a hand slowly over Tommy's jaw, pushes the long fall of Tommy's bangs to the side, tucking them behind Tommy's ear.

"I want you. Just like this. Just ready for anything, for everything." Adam's fingers come back, tracing over Tommy's lips and his cheek and down the line of his neck. "I want you beside me when we go out there, smiling and happy and fucking riding this crazy shit to the end. I want to know that you're safe and that you're doing the right thing and that, in the end, it's me that you turn to when you're excited or scared or lonely."

The fingers ghosting over Tommy's neck drop further, push against the collar of his shirt and dance along the sharp ridge of bone. "I want to tie you up, spend hours learning you. Learning what makes you squirm and what makes you blush and what makes you fucking beg. I want to fuck you, hard and fast and slow and lazy. I want you on your knees for me. Pretty and waiting, begging me with those big brown eyes. I want to touch you when and where and however I want. And I want to hear the amazing noises, the whimpers and pleas and demands that I'm so fucking sure you'll make."

"You. All of you. That's what I _want_ , Tommy Joe. I want you to be mine." Adam's brings his fingers back to Tommy's mouth, tracing the edges and then pushing one in, leaving it heavy and weighted on Tommy's tongue. "That's exactly what I want. But I _need_ ," Adam huffs, slowly drawing his finger out of Tommy's mouth, and then quietly, in almost a whisper, says, "I need you to need me."

Oh. Oh, oh, fuck, oh.

Tommy gurgles – _gurgles_ – a convoluted mash-up of words that just can't be worked into a string of coherency. He stops and swallows and tries to make the words in his head get into some semblance of a language he can actually speak. He wants to tell Adam, to fucking make Adam see that, okay, yeah, maybe the word need is starting to make sense and that Tommy doesn't really know yet just exactly what he needs, that he doesn't quite get the point of some of what Adam wants. But he does know, knows like the back of his fucking hand, he knows that he needs Adam.

Needs him to be there, to fucking ground Tommy and want Tommy and, Jesus fucking Christ, maybe even something like love Tommy. And that, okay, maybe, that whole possessive bastard thing sounds kinda hot, that being at Adam's mercy and kneeling at his feet, and a lot of it sounds a whole lot like Adam taking care of Tommy and that maybe, just fucking maybe, Tommy could totally be down with that. As long as Adam is willing to let Tommy take care of him too. Just, you know, it has to work both ways cause he really isn't a fucking china doll.

That's what Tommy tries to make his brain form into words. But when he opens his mouth, all that tumbles out is, "Oh."

Then, "Yes."

And finally, "Adam."

Adam makes some squeak-choke-growl in return. An unmanly sound that has Tommy's lips going into a lopsided quirk. Then Adam rolls his hips, keeps rolling his hips, pressing down and trapping Tommy's dick with heat and friction and Tommy's brain kind of stutters completely out.

"Oh, fuck," Tommy babbles. "Not in my pants, Adam, not again. I don't have..."

And Tommy knows, fucking _knows_ , that is exactly where this is leading. Straight to his coming undone like a fucking virgin. Just, please, fuck, not in his pants. Not again. Not without at least having the heavy length of Adam's dick right next to his.

"You, dammit. Wanna feel you."

Adam makes that crazy half-assed noise again, and then, in a blur of movement, is standing beside the couch, a hand reaching out for Tommy. "Come on, Tommy Joe."

Tommy twines his fingers around Adam's, lets Adam tug him to his feet and fucking manhandle him all the way to the bed. He meets Adam kiss for kiss, opening his mouth, encouraging Adam to _come on, bring it_ with hisses and groans and a hand pulling on Adam's shoulder and neck and finally twisting into his shirt collar.

Tommy may not know about all that shit Adam was going on about. But he knows this. This heady combination of friend and lover that, yeah, has been taunting them since the very beginning.

And when Adam strips Tommy's shirt off, makes a move towards the snap and zip of Tommy's jeans, Tommy's hands are right in there, returning the favor, tugging at Adam's shirt and fighting with the ridiculously large belt buckle. "Off," and Tommy flicks his fingers against the bright and shiny. "Now."

"Demanding little fucker." Adam mouths the words against Tommy's bare shoulder, but his hand reaches down and does _something_ and then the belt falls open and Tommy is right back in there, working the button open and the fly down and, holy fucking shit, _yes_ , Adam is going commando.

It's a huge battle of give and take, of laughing and teasing, of friendly and fun, and it's the fucking hottest thing Tommy has been part of in a long goddamn time, last night aside. It makes him wonder just what the fuck he was doing wrong all those times before, when stripping off the clothes was seriously, just stripping off the clothes.

Then they're rolling across the bed and his laugh goes deep and Adam's eyes go dark and Tommy's pretty sure he's fixing to get fucked to within an inch of his life. He's more than okay with that. Way more than okay. He slides his fingers through Adam's hair, down to the base of Adam's neck, and tries pulling Adam closer.

"Nuh uh, Tommy Joe." Adam fights the tug with a shake of his head. "Let me make it happen."

Suddenly Tommy understands their conversation even more. The dark look in Adam's eyes, the primal thing that always seems to be skating just below the surface, is practically raging right now. And Tommy wants to call Adam out, because this – the whole learning Tommy, making Tommy beg, getting Tommy to his knees – this is way more than something that Adam wants, it's totally something that he _needs_.

"We're really doing this?"

"I'm giving you a taste. A very small taste," Adam replies. "Then we can figure out if we're really doing this."

Adam leans in and kisses Tommy, drags his lips across Tommy's two, three, five times, then his tongue darts out and Adam licks his way into Tommy's mouth. His fingers circle around Tommy's wrists and Adam stretches Tommy's arms out high above his head, curling his fingers around the edge of the mattress and just fucking _holding_ them there.

"Now, be still, Tommy Joe."

* * *

  
Twenty minutes later Tommy is sure of one thing: Adam is never tying his ass down. Because, seriously, without the benefit of rope or chains or whatever the fuck, Tommy is a hot, sweaty mess. He's splayed wide open, legs bent at the knee and spread, arms still over his head with his hands gripping the mattress like a lifeline.

His thighs are fucking shaking – _shaking_ – and every touch is sizzling along the end of Tommy's nerves, sparking and igniting and fucking branding.

"So pretty," Adam murmurs, soft and low and Tommy wonders if Adam even realizes he's talking out loud. "So damn pretty, all slick and wanting."

Tommy rolls his bottom lip inward, bites down over it. He is so not going to beg. It's bad enough he can't stop the little wheezy noises, the short gasps and the long, drawn sighs. Adam sure as fuck ain't getting the begging too. Not now, not yet.

"Stop fighting me, Tommy Joe. Submit."

The words race across Tommy's thigh. Icy-hot breaths that raises goosebumps over Tommy's skin and forces another deep rumble of _noise_ from Tommy's lungs.

"Just let go. Feel it, feel me."

Tommy shakes his head. "You're trying to break me."

"Only in the best way, baby." Adam mouths the words right into Tommy's thigh, uses teeth and tongue, stinging fucking bites followed by lazy swirling licks, to convey his intent.

Tommy shudders, a ripple of muscle that starts at the top of his skull and just rolls through his body, gains momentum as it works lower until his toes curl into the sheets. "Adam."

There is no answer. Adam just starts a maddening dance of fingers along Tommy's hip, drums a familiar beat over the point of bone and then down, across the sensitive juncture of Tommy's groin.

"I've dreamed about having you this way. Of you spread out and flushed, wearing my marks and begging for more."

Adam drags a fingernail against Tommy's dick. Just enough pressure to bank the immediate need, replacing it with a buzz of pain that just fucking explodes into more goddamn whimpering, wordless versions of _now_ and _fuck_ and _please_.

"Dreamed of going out on stage and playing to the crowd, watching them scream for you, knowing the whole time that beneath the makeup, under the frilly shirt and the leather pants, that everywhere they can't see is the proof that you're mine. Just mine, all mine."

Then Adam turns his head and sucks a bruise up in the meaty flesh of Tommy's thigh.

The _please_ rips out of Tommy's throat, real and alive and so totally against Tommy's will. And then it happens again, voice stronger, harder, full of everything he needs.

"Oh, yes," Adam groans. "Beg for me, pretty."

Tommy begs because after the first one, now that it's out there, has been heard, Tommy can't stop. Just _can't_. He begs long and loud and like a fucking whore. Begs for Adam's touch, for Adam's cock. Begs for movement, begs for release. For more, and even for less. Just begs and begs and begs.

And when Adam holds Tommy's legs wide and works his cock deep into Tommy's ass, Tommy begs some more.

* * *

  
Adam slips one hand down between them, his knuckle brushing against Tommy's ass as he holds the edge of the condom and slides back. Then, with a quick pass of lips, Adam rolls to the side of the bed and stands up, murmuring, "Be right back."

Tommy watches as Adam drops the condom in the trashcan, then uses as washcloth to clean himself up, and finishes by washing his hands. Then, before he turns off the water, Tommy sees him snatch another washcloth off the bar. He starts blushing, knowing exactly what is coming next.

He stays quiet during the whole thing, watching when Adam's eyes and then his fingers linger over the mark on his thigh, and trace the impression of Adam's teeth on Tommy's calf. He pushes his questions away until Adam has wiped him down and taken the rag back to the bathroom, returning to the bed with two bottles of cold water. They both sit up, Adam leaning against the headboard and Tommy curled into his side, sipping their water. Adam is dragging his free hand up and down Tommy's spine.

It's nice, this quiet between them, and Tommy kinda hates to break it. Except that he has to ask. "Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"You did it last night too." Tommy focuses on a smattering of freckles, on the lighter hair on Adam's chest. Anything to keep from looking at Adam. "That whole cleaning me up deal."

Adam's hand stops rubbing Tommy's back and then, immediately, starts again, the strokes harder, with more pressure, digging into the muscles and massaging. "It bothers you?"

Tommy wishes he could say _yeah, so fucking stop it_ , but it doesn't bother him. It embarrasses him. It embarrasses him more because he likes it. He gives a stunted shake of his head. "Not really."

"Okay, um, it's starting as I mean to go." He nudges the bottle in Tommy's hand, tipping the base high enough that Tommy finally clues in and takes another swallow.

"So every time we fuck, you're gonna do that?"

"Oh, god, no. Not when it's fast and dirty and we're about to go on stage – " and, yeah, Tommy's dick is all about working that plan "– or it's a lazy, happy morning thing. But introducing you to something new, pushing boundaries, playing hard? Yeah, I'll be doing that."

It's probably just as well that it doesn't really bother Tommy. Adam's tone of voice doesn't leave room for arguing. Tommy recognizes it as the same way Adam gets when he's being stubborn about some random dance move or concert venue. He'll just have to work on the whole embarrassment thing.

Then Adam's touch changes again, moves from massaging to flitting little teasing touches of heat and his lips are working their way over Tommy's neck and Tommy is scooting down the bed and opening his legs and, _Christ_ , fucking begging for Adam to touch him or fuck him, just, dammit, do something.

* * *

  
"Enter fucking Sandman!"

"Dude, heard you the first five hundred times." Sasha laughs and slaps Tommy's leg. "But, yeah, it was cool. Thought you were gonna shake something loose the way you were banging."

"Metal boy is metal," Terrance says, passing Tommy another drink. "And epic kiss was epic."

"Shuddup," Tommy slurs, and then immediately cuts his eyes across to Adam, curled and smiling in the chair. Epic kiss _was_ fucking epic. "I'm never gonna forget this shit, man. Seriously, last year I skipped – _skipped_ – my own fucking party to practice."

"And this year you're rocking Sandman in Middle-earth." Isaac sits down on the couch next to Tommy. "Nice change of pace, if you ask me."

"Fucking-A, it is."

They're drunk, all of them. Celebrating Tommy's birthday all family style with prank gifts and free flowing booze. Tommy can't even begin to describe how great this is. With the small exception that Adam is still in the chair and Isaac is totally getting up in Tommy's personal space.

Tommy sets his drink on the coffee table, pushes it towards the end closest to Adam. He stands up, swaying a little against the alcohol in his veins, then carefully steps over Isaac's legs and drops into Adam's lap. "Hey."

"Hey." Adam grins, leans in close enough to rub their noses together. "You're drunk."

"I am. It's my birthday."

That gets a full out laugh. "It is."

"You lied out there. All of you lied." Tommy says it with a clarity that should be beyond him, given the amount of liquor he's ingested. "Monte's idea, my ass. And you've known that song for fucking months."

Adam shrugs, completely unrepentant. "Had to throw it off somehow."

"You do realize that, since we are, like, really doing what they all think, hiding is useless."

Adam arches a brow. "Why?"

"Dude, I totally suck at things like subtle and subterfuge." Tommy looks at his drink, leans towards it, and then, sighing, drops back against Adam empty handed. "Too far away."

"Had enough, baby?"

Tommy nods. He's so drunk. It's definitely a purple whirlies night. "Need my bed."

"My room is quieter. Come on." Adam helps Tommy stand up, keeps one hand wrapped over Tommy's hip. Then, with a pointed look at Monte, Adam leads Tommy out of the room and two doors down, to Adam's space.

Tommy face plants right in the middle of the bed. He hears Adam stripping down, the clink of jewelry hitting the dresser and the swish and creak of denim and leather. Then Adam is tugging at Tommy's boots, rolling him over to work Tommy's pants down, and easing the t-shirt over Tommy's head. Naked, Tommy sighs and burrows beneath the covers.

"Water and aspirin first."

Cracking one eye open, Tommy frowns. Adam has that tone again. "Thought that bossiness was just a sex thing."

Confusion races over Adam's features then gives way to amused understanding. "Um, not really, baby."

"Huh."

Adam shakes the bottle in front of Tommy's face. "Water and aspirin, Tommy Joe."

"Bossy, demanding man," Tommy mutters, sitting up enough to toss the aspirin to the back of his throat, chasing them with a long draw, a half the bottle chug of water. "Next thing you know, gonna be tellin' me what to eat and who I can hang out with."

"Oh, baby," Adam chuckles, sliding in next to Tommy. "I'll never tell you who you can be friends with."

Even drunk as he is, Tommy totally catches the fact that Adam left part of that statement up in the air.

* * *

  
He's never drinking again. Ever. Especially not when they're flying out the next day and then have shit like live tv to get ready for. Because that is so when Murphy's Law kicks in and the plane does some fucked up thing and he's holding on to Monte and trying not to scream like a girl. Oh, and, yeah, happy birthday to him.

What the fuck ever.

When the day is finally over and Sasha makes noise about having birthday drinks, Tommy turns a little green around the edges and waves her off with a very firm, "Thanks, but, no."

That tactic doesn't work with Adam and the next thing Tommy knows he's neck deep in a goddamn bubble bath – which, okay, yeah, totally rocks – cradled in between Adam's legs. Adam is all slick and wet and _hard_ and the way he keeps dragging the soap and his fingers over Tommy is its own happy birthday, sans the sarcasm the rest of the day had.

Tommy is relaxed and buzzy enough that the filter between his brain and his mouth is _gone_ and he just blurts out, "You're gonna have to teach me, yanno?"

Adams' fingers curl into Tommy's thighs, the blunt edge of nails biting crescent moons into his skin. "Huh?"

"Um, nothing?" Because, good fuck, that wasn't supposed to actually come out with real words and shit.

"Tommy Joe."

And, _Christ_ , there's that tone again. Tommy hates the way his dick kinda twitches when Adam uses that tone. Very fucking inconvenient, that is.

"Just thinking." Tommy hopes that Adam will let it go if Tommy just owns up to the fact that he really did not mean to say that out loud. He really wants to just float along the buzz he's got building. "Didn't mean to, like, _say_ that."

"But you did." Adam's clench on Tommy's legs loosens, his hands going back to the petting, stroking, teasing of before. "Now I want to hear the rest of it."

A plethora of responses fly through Tommy's brain. Some snarky, some witty, and some down right petulant. He settles on a something that can lead them back to where he was. "I got no idea what the hell we're doing here."

"Understandable. We really need to have a long talk." Adam presses a light kiss against Tommy's neck. "Where do you want to start?"

"Dunno," Tommy sighs. "I mean, we talked. Some. And then I looked some shit up today while you were soundchecking." Tommy tilts his head back and looks at Adam through his lashes. "Google can find everything, man. But, just when I think I got it figured out in my head, something else happens and it gets bigger than it was and I'm confused again."

"Okay, first, Google, Tommy? Really?" Adam shakes his head. "Not exactly the best place to snoop this out."

"No kiddin'," Tommy mumbles, flashes of what he'd found – the pictures, the stories, the _pictures_ – tumbling through his mind. "Got that pretty quick."

Adam's chuckles vibrates against Tommy's back. "Oh, Tommy."

"Seriously. I mean, some of that..." Tommy shudders. Some of it was so not for him. Really.

"Come on, time to get out."

"What? Why?" The questions reflect just how bewildered Tommy feels. He just wants to stay like this – all comfortable and cocooned in hot water – 'til he's pruny and on the verge of cold. But Adam is pushing, fucking _pushing_ , him out of the tub. Fucker.

"Because I need to undo whatever the hell you found on Google." Adam grabs a towel, then swats Tommy's hands when Tommy reaches to do the same. "Let me."

The air in the room does a complete turnaround, goes from comfortable and teasing to oh, hello, hot in 3.2 seconds.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

The towel drags over Tommy's skin, Adam's hands big and hot beneath it. All touching and feeling and massaging. This is so not just drying off after a bath. So fucking not.

Then Adam wraps the towel around Tommy's waist, tucks and rolls the end until it's snug, and grabs another towel. He's much quicker about drying himself than he was Tommy.

Adam threads his fingers through Tommy's and heads out of the bathroom. He bypasses the couch and the bed and the fucking table in the corner and goes straight to the balcony doors. Tommy digs his heels into the carpet. "Is outside good? I mean, cameras. Crazy fans. Paps."

"Now, Tommy."

Tommy shakes his head and follows Adam outside. It's balmy but cool enough. Almost too cool for just a piece of terrycloth. Tommy hunches in against the temperature.

Using his foot, Adam drags a chair closer to the railing running along its edge. Adam drops down hard, wincing at the creak and moan of the furniture, and then pulls Tommy into his lap.

Tommy holds himself stiff. He's too close to seeing over the edge and they are way too easily seen and, god, Melbourne is pretty all lit up and reflecting off the water. He breathes in deeply and slowly, so fucking slowly, until he relaxes and slumps down, settles his back against Adam's chest.

Adam hums, a quiet noise that holds no real rhythm, no real words.

Head dropping back to Adam's shoulder, Tommy releases a long sigh as more of the tension bleeds away.

"Good boy," Adam whispers.

Then Adam's hands rub over Tommy's shoulders, stroke down his arms, ending up in Tommy's lap, fingering the edge of the towel around Tommy's waist.

Tommy reaches to curl his fingers over Adam's. "Adam?"

Adam shakes Tommy's fingers off and tugs until the towel is hanging over Adam's legs and Tommy is completely exposed.

"Wherever, whenever, however, Tommy Joe."

Tommy shudders, his eyes darting around into the night and his hands moving instinctively to cover himself.

"No." Adam grabs Tommy's wrists and holds his hands at his sides, letting the grip lengthen and loosen until his fingers are simply resting on Tommy's wrists. "Do you want to stop this right now?"

"N..." Tommy clears his throat. "No."

"You need a word, if you decide this needs to stop, if you _ever_ need to stop. Something that can't be mistaken, and that you can remember."

Safewords. Tommy read about those, thought about them even more. But... "Thought we were just talking."

"Sometimes even talking needs a safe way out."

Huh. "Manson."

"Manson," Adam repeats. "You need it, you say it. You don't say it, Tommy, and I will so tan your ass."

"Yeah, okay." They're doing this. Like really fucking doing this. Tommy tenses, because he still feels like he has no clue what is going on. Doesn't understand anymore than the basics, or why he seems to want this so damned much, or even how Adam knew. Just _knew_ that Tommy could be this way.

Adam starts dragging his hands over Tommy again. Over arms and thighs, over Tommy's abdomen, dipping closer to but never touching his dick. Then back up, scratching over Tommy's nipples and along his ribs. The movements are slow, easy, comfortable. The longer Adam does it, touches him without a clear destination, the more Tommy lets go of his worry and his expectations and his doubts until he's floating, just mentally skating along the edge, more focused on the feel of Adam's hands rather than the where or the how or even the why.

"Oh, yes," Adam murmurs, his voice low, barely more than a whisper. "That's it, pretty. Just let it go, let me take care of you."

Tommy trembles, his muscles rolling in one last ditch effort to fight this. Whatever _this_ is, Tommy still isn't sure.

"Put your head back, baby, and close your eyes," Adam murmurs, his voice deep and comforting, nonthreatening. "Just lean back and let it go."

Sighing, Tommy does what Adam asks. He molds his back against Adam's chest, rests his head in the curve of where Adam's shoulder and neck meet. He blinks his eyes – closed and then open and finally closed again – until they fall and stay shut.

"Well done, Tommy Joe. _Very_ well done."

The praise, such simple words, sends a rush of pride through Tommy.

Adam's touch turns to one of intent. The light, teasing flutters of fingers becoming stronger strokes, working heat into Tommy's arms and thighs. Then Adam brushes a kiss against Tommy's temple.

"Do you trust me? Trust me to know what you need and how to get you there?" Another kiss is mouthed into Tommy's hairline. "Because I trust you to be exactly that for me. And this, this thing between us, it has to have trust from both sides."

Tommy grunts, moans a short sound that in his brain sounded more like _yeah_ or _okay_ or some other word of acknowledgment, of satisfaction that this is so not one-sided.

"It's all about wants and needs and how they fit together, how we fit together. And, _fuck_ , we so fit together."

 _Always have._ The thought skitters through Tommy's mind. They slotted into each other's life almost seamlessly from the very beginning. Readjusting and making room, carving out perfect little Tommy and Adam sized niches until it felt like they'd always been together, around each other, a fucking part of each other. From the damn beginning.

With a startling realization, Tommy says, "It's not about the sex."

Adam hums and Tommy can hear the approval.

"No, it's not. It manifests in sex, it's easier to notice in sex. But, no, not about sex at all."

And that totally blows Tommy's mind, shatters everything he thought he'd figured out and rebuilds it. The concept is still the same – he submits to Adam – but good fuck, the context has shifted and mutated and grown into something he can understand.

"I don't want to be a slave."

Adam chuckles, the huffs of breath ruffling Tommy's hair. "Baby, you couldn't be a slave even if you did want it. You aren't built that way."

"But..."

"Submissive does _not_ mean subservient, Tommy Joe."

That makes sense. But it's still fucking overwhelming.

Tommy doesn't say anything else. He just lets the words twist around in his brain and focuses on the feeling of Adam's hands gliding over his skin. He occasionally pokes at the new information until he's comfortable with it. With what Adam has said, with what he's discovered. With where all of this seems to be leading.

Then, voice strong in direct opposition to his seemingly sleeping state, Tommy says, "Adam, I need you to teach me."

* * *

  
Tommy wakes up to an empty bed. Not surprising since Adam told him about early interviews and shit, but not exactly Tommy's first choice for the morning either. It does give him time to think though, something that he has, in his opinion, done way too fucking much of lately.

Eyes closed and covers pulled up to his neck, he just kinda lets his mind drift, replaying bits and pieces of the conversation last night. Remembers talking about very specific, blush worthy things that included the words bondage and butt plugs and spanking. He remembers Adam's dirty chuckle against his ear when, with just the thought of being over Adam's knees, Tommy's dick jerked and filled, saying everything that Tommy really couldn't find words for.

And he remembers the rules. A list of shit that they _negotiated_ , an absolute first for Tommy. Negotiating a relationship. Things like limits and public versus private and just how far this was going to go, how far Adam's reach would be. Which, in the end, happens to be pretty fucking far.

But Tommy agreed to it. They talked, they made concessions – both of them on various things – and by the time for bed rolled around, they had a list they both agreed to. And the way he's aching and wanting even now, physically and mentally and with Adam nowhere in sight, reassures Tommy that he'd made the right decisions last night. That this explicit give and take, rules and expectations, giving control over to someone else, to Adam, is, for him, a good thing.

That still kinda freaks him out.

The idea that somewhere inside of him is this _need_ , and he totally sees it as a need now, to let someone else take the reigns is intimidating. Makes him feel lesser in some ways – because, good fuck, who the hell _wants_ to submit – but stronger in others – because, and isn't this ironic, submitting takes a strength he never knew he possessed.

Tommy shakes his head and looks at the clock. He's got thirty minutes to get ready before he's supposed to meet Monte for breakfast. The whole breakfast thing is not his usual unless he'd passed out in Adam's room the night before. Adam is the one big on breakfast, on starting the day with the proper amount of, as he calls it, fuel. One of their compromises because now Tommy seems to be big on breakfast too.

Groaning, he drags out of bed and into the shower. He glares balefully at his dick. No jerking off. Not unless Adam is here or Tommy calls him first. The phone call was one of Adam's concessions.

Tommy turns the water to fucking ice-biting cold and jumps in. No way in hell is he making that call. None. He'd probably explode from the headrush of embarrassment before he'd even worked two words out of his mouth.

At least he knows he can survive blue balls.

* * *

  
Tommy's hair is still damp when he strolls into the dining room, eyes darting over the tables until he finds Monte. Pulling out chair, he drops down with a grunt. "Morning."

"This is new."

"Yeah," Tommy agrees with a nod. "Apparently I've been missing the most important meal of the day."

Monte chokes a little on his coffee and then grins. "Wow, sound more excited, Tommy. I dare you."

Tommy flips Monte off and then, when the waitress appears, orders something simple and light. Egg white omelet and fruit, and the biggest cup of coffee she can find.

"So," Monte draws the word out slowly, almost like he's walking a mine field, "you and Adam?"

Tommy ponders exactly how to answer that. Monte has known Adam for a long time, long enough to know exactly what kind of relationships Adam gets into. The man is also so damned observant that trying to deny anything will be blown in a matter of days, if it lasts that long. But Tommy's not so sure this is something he's ready to discuss with anyone outside of Adam. Finally, he says, "We're working on it."

Monte quirks a brow. "More than a passing fancy?"

Laughing, because who knew Monte could be subtle, Tommy nods again. "Definitely."

They eat without much more conversation. Tommy manages to control his blush – somewhat, anyway – when Monte says something about the Melbourne skyline and asks if Tommy got a glimpse of it last night, all lit up and shining. Then, when the waitress has cleared the table and they're both pushing to a stand, Monte stops Tommy with a hand on his wrist. "If you need someone outside of it to talk to, I'm here. I'm sure Adam will give you the go ahead."

Tommy flames red but somehow eeks out an, "Okay, man. Thanks," before retreating to his room.

So much for keeping shit on the down low.

* * *

  
"You're giving it away, Adam." Monte's been bitching about their kiss since leaving the stage. It's getting old now.

"I almost always kiss him in _Fever_ , what the fuck, Monte?"

"Not like that, man." Monte shakes his head. "Not like that."

Tommy looks between Monte and Adam but keeps his mouth shut. Monte's right about that part. Adam was too gentle, too tender in the kiss tonight.

"Let me remind you of one thing," Monte gives Adam a hard stare, "zoom lens. Bet there were plenty of them in the crowd tonight."

Adam gets a stubborn set to his shoulders, the arm draped around Tommy tightening minutely, and snaps, "I don't give a shit. They all think we're fucking anyway."

"And yet Tommy might."

"Whoa, man," Tommy drawls. "Don't bring me into this shit."

"No, no," Adam says with a shake of his head. "Monte's right. It's your choice too."

Tommy shrugs, ready for this conversation to be over and for Monte to be the fuck outta their room. _Their_ room. Heh. "Told you already, I'm not good at subtle. So, really, whatever."

"You were drunk that night."

"Not that drunk." Tommy cuts his eyes to Monte. He's worked at following all the rules today – even the one about not jacking off – and feels a certain accomplishment about it, about actually being able to do it. Now he wants time with Adam, for Adam to see that he's trying and learning and wanting. Monte needs to go. "Say goodnight, Monte, it's past time for good little boys to be in bed."

And, yeah, that wasn't full of subtext. Not at all. But subtext is safe in front of Monte. Monte is safe. As weird as Tommy is about all of this still, knowing that Monte knows, knows and doesn't give a shit, doesn't look at Tommy any differently? Well, that part of it is pretty cool.

Adam chuckles, pulls his arm from around Tommy and smacks him on the ass. "Go, I'll be there in a minute."

Tommy walks away with a smirk, listening as Adam ushers Monte into the hallway and then closes the door. As soon as the door snicks shut, Tommy starts stripping. Another of Adam's rules: if they are in and alone for the night, Tommy is naked. It makes Tommy a tiny bit self-conscious and a little bit blushy around the edges, reminds him very clearly of what they agreed to.

But it also promises more of that petting thing Adam does so well. Which also serves to remind Tommy. In a very pleasant way, at that.

Besides, he has been really good today. He's so not going to fuck it up right before bed. There'll be time enough for that shit to happen later on.

"Good little boys, huh?"

Tommy fights the rush of blood to his face. "Um, yeah?"

Adam tugs Tommy into a hug and laughs. "I just bet. Come on," he starts walking towards the bathroom, "we stink."

"Shower?"

"Yeah," Adam murmurs, petting and kissing and _rubbing_ all over Tommy. "Bath'll take too long."

"Too long?"

"Yeah, much too long." Adam turns the water on one-handed, "until I can fuck you."

Oh. Now that sounds really good. Tommy shudders once. "Please."

Adam growls and pulls Tommy into the shower, works them both over fast and methodical but still, somehow, turns it into foreplay.

They barely make it through the shower. Tommy is still dotted with water and flush from the steam when Adam tumbles them onto the bed and pins Tommy face down.

Tommy's brain starts shorting out when Adam licks his way into Tommy's ass. It goes completely offline when Adam pushes into him, one hand holding Tommy's wrists tight, the other twisting through Tommy's hair.

* * *

  
"Thank fuck the flight is only an hour long." That's really all Tommy can say about flying into Sydney for the first time. He doesn't think he could handle much longer than that. Not when he can see Adam and hear Adam but fucking well can't touch him. He really wants to touch him. Unfortunately, hovering in Adam's orbit has to be enough.

Adam's comments last night, about not doing anything too heavy, not taking Tommy out of his head, make sense now. This is not the time for Tommy to be vulnerable or needy. Well, no more needy than he already is.

He can feel Adam's eyes on him as he takes his usual seat next to Monte. "Alright there?"

"Huh?"

Monte shakes his head and snorts. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Good," Tommy rambles. "'M good." Then Tommy closes his eyes and sighs. "Just fucking tired of flying all over the place. I miss the damn bus."

"Somehow I think you're just now realizing the full benefit of having a tour bus."

Tommy laughs with him. Even if he does give him the finger first.

* * *

  
"I want you working it out there tonight, Tommy Joe."

Tommy sucks in a sharp breath and nods, then he leans back into Adam and looks up, taking in Adam's profile through the fall of his hair. He's been away from Adam damn near all day, only together during the soundcheck earlier that afternoon. "You were busy today."

Adam smirks, pure devilment flashing beneath the shadow and glitter decorating his eyes. "Not all of it was for work. Managed a little personal shopping, stuff for Halloween. Got a surprise if you're up for it tonight."

A sharp spike of want zips through Tommy. "Let's do this then."

"Let's."

As the lights go down, Tommy takes his opening mark, excited and curious and fucking rock ass hard before he plays even the opening note. Then he sees the look Adam is sending him. All hot and promising and, _fuck_ , sex and Tommy grins.

He leans into Adam harder, pushing his entire body against Adam's frame, rocking his hips up and back and begging right there in front thousands of screaming fans. When Adam's dick, just as hard as Tommy's, rubs against the rise of Tommy's ass, he grins.

Adam wants him working it tonight? Adam's so getting what he asked for. Tommy can hardly wait for _Fever_.

* * *

  
Laughing, Tommy pushes Adam towards the bathroom. "Shower and mouthwash. Lots of mouthwash."

Adam quirks a brow. "Jealous of a little tongue diving, Tommy?"

Yes. As a matter of fact, he is. But he gets that Adam onstage and Adam here with him are two different animals. It was one of the reasons, the biggest reason Tommy believed that anything offstage between them was simply friends with benefits, wasn't real. Because he knows without a doubt that Adam onstage isn't real, is a persona that Adam created, that he wraps around him like a opaque shawl. Real enough to be easy to maintain, facade enough that he can keep some things private. Shrugging, Tommy says, "Just want to taste you, not some fan."

"Yeah, got it," Adam murmurs. "Okay, gimme five."

Tommy snorts. "Five? I know you. See you in twenty."

It's closer to fifteen when Adam walks out of the bathroom, steam billowing out of the door behind him. Tommy is naked and stretched across the bed on his stomach, flipping through the channels and humming some stupid jingle from a commercial. His shower earlier, plus the quiet before Adam came in from the after-concert interview, completely leeched the adrenaline high of the show, leaving Tommy in a rather peaceful frame of mind.

He tracks Adam with his eyes. Watches him go to the dresser, check something on his phone, then to the thermostat on the wall. Tommy hears the air kick on moments later and grins. Adam is the biggest contradiction ever. He hates naturally cold weather, but has to have ice forming on the ceiling to sleep comfortably in a hotel. Tommy finds the whole thing amusing.

Adam opens his suitcase and grabs a small bag, the store logo one he'd never seen before. He tosses the bag onto the bedside table, right next to the necessities: lube and condoms. After turning the tv off, Adam nudges at Tommy's thigh and says, "Come on, lazy boy. We need this," he pulls at the comforter, "off the top."

Tommy rolls to the opposite side and, nose wrinkled, starts folding the comforter back. "Lazy? That's not me, man."

"I dunno. You're like the only who can sleep _anywhere_."

"That's a talent, has nothing to do with laziness." Tommy tugs the top sheet down and then, looking at Adam, slides onto the bed. "So, you ever gonna share what you bought today?"

"Some of it." Adam sits down on the side of the bed, leaning in to kiss Tommy, slow and sweet and familiar. Tommy sighs and relaxes further into the mattress. "Nice."

"Yeah," Tommy returns. "Nice."

Adam sits up and grabs the bag. "I want some of this to be a surprise for you."

"Okay."

"So, how do you feel about," Adam reaches into the bag and then tosses a strip of heavy, lined black towards Tommy, "being blindfolded?"

"Just blindfolded?"

"This time."

"Um, yeah." Tommy looks away from the blindfold and stares at Adam. "I mean, I can still stop it, right?"

"Always."

Tommy nods once. "Okay, yeah. Then what?"

Adam's grin is predatory, practically feral. "Then I touch you."

* * *

  
Tommy moans as the soft fur glides over his inner thigh. The touch tickles and soothes and he doesn't know if he'd arch into it or away from it. Except that Adam has told him to be still like fifty billion times already. The last time was accompanied by a loud, stinging smack against Tommy's thigh. Point made and taken.

As the minutes tick off, the longer Tommy lies there and just takes it, he starts getting lost, just fucking _lost_ in the feel of Adam's caress and the heat radiating from Adam's body. He lets go of trying to predict Adam's path, submerses himself in the easy touch and questing fingers until his breathing even outs and his brain is fogging over, every nerve ending teased and brought to attention.

The hand dragging across his abdomen slows, slips lower, brushing against Tommy's cock in its descent. Fur and heat, the pressure of Adam's fingers curl around Tommy's balls, pulling Tommy deeper into the white static of simply _feeling_. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the bite and sting of spikes scratching and scoring over his ribs invade and Tommy sucks in a harsh breath as sweat and goosebumps break out across his skin.

"Easy, baby." Adam's voice is low, the words whispered right next to Tommy's ear. "Take it in and ride it out."

Tommy can almost make out the shape of Adam's hand, kind of notices the way the pricks of skin are spread out yet clustered into five groups. It's some kind of fucked up glove that is meant to drive him completely and totally goddamned crazy. He's fucking sure of it. Then Adam pulls across Tommy's gut and his body shudders, trembles under the onslaught of tines running over sensitized skin, and Tommy just knows he's gonna pass out or come or, if he's fucking lucky, both.

"Oh, fuck," Tommy hisses, his cock jerking and leaking and fucking straining against the cool air of the room.

Lips brush against Tommy's jaw. "So fucking pretty like this."

Tommy whines, high-pitched and wanton, and his hips jerk, pushing his cock into the fur and tightening the muscles of his abdomen and chest, increasing the poke and drag and burn along his skin.

"Fuck, Adam." Tommy clenches his jaw and pulls a ragged breath in through his teeth. "Fuck me, goddamn..."

"Stop holding back. Let me take you there." Adam's teeth close around Tommy's earlobe, fast and tight, and then releases just as quick. "You, your release, your satisfaction. That's all mine. Yield to it, Tommy Joe."

The chill in the room is doing nothing to bank the desire or the want or the fucking need the dual sensations are driving through Tommy. The loss of sight to the blindfold amps Tommy's ability to _feel_ and the combination of hard and prickly warring with soft and pliant is overwhelming, overloading him, until he _has_ to stop fighting it, _has_ to stop trying to control his body's response to it all.

With a keen, Tommy folds, gives up the inner protest and lets himself float.

"Good boy," Adam murmurs against Tommy's shoulder.

Shuddering, the ghosting touch of breath hot and cold at once, he gasps a string of slurred words, "Adam, I gotta... I'm gonna..."

"Anytime, baby." The grip on Tommy's dick tightens with Adam's every word and Tommy arches into it, wanting it, wanting the release. "But when you do, this ends for tonight."

Shaking his head, Tommy whimpers. He can't hold off. _Cannot._ He can't but, _Christ_ , how he wants to.

Wants this to keep going, to never fucking end. The touching, the words. The heady knowledge that all of Adam's focus is on him.

Tommy wants this all the time. Wants to know that no matter what else he is Adam's, that at the end of the day, when the fans are locked out and the music shifts to something slower and softer, something darker, he wants to know that then there will be this.

He wants to know that Adam is there, watching and caring and leading, _oh_ , fuck, controlling. Controlling this and them and _him_.

Tommy wants this so much he can taste it. He could let himself need it, assuming he doesn't already.

"Oh, fuck," Tommy whispers, realization settling around him because, fuck, Jesus, fuck, he so fucking needs this. His back arches and Adam's name falls from his lips, a soft moan that just screams how much Tommy needs him, and then Tommy comes, sharp bursts of release that, for Tommy, are much more than just a physical relief.

It's a goddamn _moment_.

* * *

  
It takes minutes, long sweeps of the second hand, before Tommy hears the way Adam is whispering in his ear and even then the words – _so good_ and _beautiful_ and _mine_ and _well done_ – their meaning, is fuzzy in Tommy's brain. The tone and the easy way Adam is touching him though – the soft skin of his fingertips and the scratch of blunt nails – eases Tommy away from the static beat of his heart and closer to understanding.

"Come on, baby," Adam murmurs, his voice rising from the careful whisper, coming closer to its usual timber. "Time to take the blindfold off."

Tommy whines in the back of his throat. He doesn't want it off. Not yet. There'll be too much for Adam to see, too many truths that Tommy has no hope of hiding away this soon, this fast.

"Close your eyes." Adam starts working the blindfold loose. "Keep 'em closed, baby."

The blindfold slides off and, when Adam's thumbs brush against Tommy's cheeks and his lips flitter across Tommy's brow, Tommy breaks completely. The gentleness shatters him from the inside out. He turns, curls his body towards Adam, and, harsh and guttural, moans, "Adam."

Adam pulls Tommy in tight against his chest. "I've got you, Tommy Joe."

Tommy shakes his head. He needs more. More than Adam holding him, more than the words Adam keeps repeating. He needs _Adam_. Adam owning and taking and having. He _needs_ Adam to finish this, to complete the fucking circuit, bring it all full circle. And he needs it now. Needs to stop this urgent, crazy, fucking awesome fire from consuming him.

"More, _fuck_ , you."

The words are coming out stuttered and half-formed. Tommy curls his hand around Adam's waist, pulling and tugging, adding action to everything he can't fucking say. Shit like _I get it now_ and _thank you_ and _let me, let me, let me_.

Adam growls, rolls them, until Tommy is flat on his back and blanketed by Adam. "Tommy."

"Yeah, yeah." Tommy squeezes his eyes tight and wriggles and squirms, works his legs free of Adam's weight. He crooks them at the knee, wraps one around Adam and, bracing with the other, pulls, brings Adam in closer, tighter, until the heavy length of Adam's dick is riding the crease of Tommy's hip. Tommy sighs, because this is better, closer. He pushes his hips up, adds pressure and friction but still it's... "Not enough."

Then he hears the rip of a condom wrapper and the tell-tale click of the lube bottle and Adam is shifting back and his hands are dropping between them and then, _holy fucking hell yeah_ , Adam is pushing two slicked up fingers into Tommy ass.

The prep is short, barely enough to even qualify, and then Adam's dick is pressed right against his hole and Tommy drops his head back, moans, "Yeah, yeah, now, please, fuck..."

"Open your eyes, Tommy Joe."

Tommy opens his eyes, blinks against the soft glow in the room, and then drags his gaze from Adam's lips to his eyes. Then he gasps. Everything he is feeling, the crush of belonging and need and want, is being reflected in the depths of Adam's eyes. Oh. Oh, oh. "Oh."

"Yeah." Adam's lips quirk into a crooked grin and he rocks his hips forward, pushes into Tommy with one easy slide.

And the frantic, breath-stealing flashpoint that has been eating at Tommy settles into a slow burn.

"I get it." Tommy blushes as the words tumble out.

"I see that." Adam drops down to his elbows and, eyes drifting shut as he rocks slowly into Tommy, presses his forehead against Tommy's. "My wants and your needs."

"Your needs and my wants," Tommy returns.

" _Ours_." Adam rolls his hip, pulls out and thrusts back in hard and fast and fucking perfect. " _Our_ wants, _our_ needs."

Tommy sighs, his fingers curling tight around the edge of the mattress. Maybe this needing thing isn't as bad as he'd feared.

* * * * *

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Need So Fundamental [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/214073) by [paraka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraka/pseuds/paraka)




End file.
